Baby, It's Cold Outside
by Li'l Yahiko
Summary: It's Christmas Eve, and Arthur really needs to go, but he can't just leave Eames alone  with Cobb's children or otherwise . ArthurxEames SLASH


**Baby, It's Cold Outside**

Summary: It's Christmas Eve, and Arthur really needs to go, but he can't just leave Eames alone (with Cobb's children or otherwise).

* * *

"Oh, it's so pretty, James, thank you!" Ariadne cooed, holding the… artwork?... in her hands as if it was priceless. All Arthur could see was that it had some kind of noodle, a lot of glitter, some lines of marker and crayon and perhaps some cutout pieces of magazines. He didn't know why, but for some reason looking at it gave him a bad feeling.

Not that he'd been feeling _grand_ or anything. He was leaned awkwardly up against the doorframe of Cobb's kitchen, watching his co-workers drink egg nog and listen to excited children's chatter about St. Nick. He had obliged to make a trip to Cobb's for the holiday like he did every year, but he hadn't really expected for Ariadne, Yusuf, and (worst of all) Eames to be joining them. Call him a bit conceited, but he had always thought that he and Cobb were much closer than the rest of the team. Cobb was his best friend, and his kids liked him, and he was _family_. He wouldn't have been making the trip to stop at Cobb's place if they weren't. After all, it was hard enough to get through the airport on Christmas Eve, but he actually had a ticket for the same day to head back to his family's as well. No one dared to brave the airport _twice_ on Christmas Eve for someone they didn't care about…

…but Cobb had invited everyone else. He was sure he even invited Saito, but Saito would certainly not party with the middle class, though he probably wasn't much of a partier anyway. Arthur wasn't really either, but, again, _family_. When did Ariadne, Yusuf, and (worst of all) _Eames_ get the invitation to Cobb's family? He was more than a little jealous.

Cobb knew Arthur well and seemed to notice the dilemma he was silently dealing with, glaring at Eames as he leaned over the piano that Yusuf seemed to be trying to remember how to play.

"What's the matter?" Cobb asked, _as if he didn't know_.

"Didn't know you liked to make a big to-do of Christmas," Arthur said accusingly, sipping at his glass of wine with a look of _you know what you did_. "I mean, you rented this cabin out in the woods and invited all of your co-workers. Suddenly too good to celebrate back in L.A.?"

Cobb squinted at him. "I didn't take you as the jealous type, Arthur, especially when it came to me." He tried to remain serious, but there was a smile tugging at the edge of his lips. He was teasing him.

"Don't flatter yourself," Arthur replied, deadpan as possible because if Cobb could ruffle his feathers, it'd be easy for (worst of all) Eames. "I just…"

"Look, I invited them because without them, I wouldn't have been able to do this. I actually didn't really expect all of them to come…" Not that Saito had come of course, but Arthur wondered if they'd be receiving some ridiculously over-the-top gift from him as his condolences. Maybe it would be a speedboat… a _gold_ speedboat with diamond encrusted seats.

Damn it, he was smiling.

"It's fine," Arthur sighed, defeated. "It's Christmas. What really matters is that Phillipa and James are having a good time, and… well… I should just stop being such a scrooge."

Arthur glanced over the top of his wine glass to see that Eames was looking at him, and he quickly looked away. "Since I have to leave in a couple of hours, I guess I should be enjoying myself instead of being such a mess."

Cobb understood. Arthur hadn't always been on the best terms with his family. His longing to for his attention spawned from being the middle child, he supposed. Arthur's older sister and younger brother generally got a lot more attention than he did, and while most of the time he didn't really mind and actually preferred solitude, he certainly didn't like other people breaking into his new little family mold on Christmas of all holidays. Perhaps there was always that lingering fear that he might just be replaced or forgotten about entirely, like last year's gifts. That was the problem with coming from a family of White Anglo-Saxon Protestants. Emotion wasn't really in the queue, leaving those who didn't get much affection from their parents left vulnerable. Hell, Arthur had tensed up dramatically the first time Mal had hugged him back in the day.

If there was one thing Arthur liked, it was Christmas. Cobb would notice of course that Arthur was humming Christmas carols at least a month in advance, and his plain colored suits would start to have just a splash more of green or red (usually in the ties or the socks). Discovering however that his Christmas cheer had to be shared with everyone else though… well, that brought out a sourpuss side of Arthur that was a bit unbecoming of him. It was all right though because really he just needed to be reminded of it, and he'd stop.

"When does your flight leave?" Cobb asked, approaching Ariadne to help her up off the floor per her request.

"Nine tonight."

"When will you even have time to sleep?" Ariadne laughed, taking Cobb's hand. "My family isn't having Christmas until New Year." She made an awkward expression.

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "I'll sleep on the plane. Are you okay?"

It quickly became apparent that Cobb was not letting go of her hand. Given that Cobb wasn't much for romantic gestures towards anyone but Mal, especially considering he was in front of other people (including his children), Arthur was sure that something else entirely was going on.

Yusuf stopped tinkering on the piano and glanced over his shoulder while Eames simply raised his eyebrows, sipping at his own glass of egg nog that was probably more alcohol than anything.

"Um…" Cobb said, turning towards James who was giggling. "James, what glue did you use for Ariadne's picture?"

James blinked innocently and giggled some more.

"I told him not to use it," Phillipa said matter-of-factly, crossing her arms. "He used that glue from your toolbox; even though you said to never use it because he said that the picture needed to be special."

Eames snorted rather ungracefully into his glass. "She's really stuck on you," he mumbled, and Yusuf started laughing too. Arthur just glared at them like they were children who had just heard a dirty word.

Cobb and Ariadne pulled, but quickly it became apparent that that was not going to work. "Ow, ow, OW, Cobb, stop! That hurts!"

"That's what she said last night," Yusuf mumbled to Eames who snorted into his glass again, followed by a cackle and a knee slap. Arthur rolled his eyes.

"What gets super glue off of skin?" Cobb asked anyone.

"If you two make another joke, I promise you'll get something more unpleasant than coal in your stocking," Ariadne warned as soon as Yusuf and Eames broke into grins.

"Bugger if I know," Eames shrugged. "I don't make it a habit to get glued to anyone."

Yusuf suggested, "I suppose I could try concocting something, but I wouldn't want anyone to think we're doing anything illegal."

Arthur sipped at his wine but stopped when he realized he was slurping and it was loud enough for everyone to hear. "You might need to go to the emergency room. If it's the glue I'm thinking it is, my brother glued his arm to the stereo one time, don't ask me how, and he had to get it removed at the hospital."

"Kids, huh," Ariadne said, trying for a smile even though she was in much distress.

"Yeah, except that he was twenty-two."

"…Oh."

"Alcohol was involved," Arthur tacked on at the end.

Yusuf looked at the two glued together co-workers. "I'll drive," he offered.

Now it was Arthur's turn to snort into his glass, though it was far from a humored sound. "What? No-"

"You know, I'm actually a good driver if I'm not being shot at," Yusuf complained, furrowing his brows.

"No, that's not…" Arthur paused, contemplating that momentarily and decided to continue on his own train of thought. "What I mean is, you actually intend to leave Phillipa and James here?"

"They wouldn't be alone," Cobb said, confused.

Arthur looked over at Eames. "That's my point exactly."

"Ah, well, you are the point man," Eames shrugged, unaffected. He never was, and that was what was infuriating.

"You really intend to leave your kids here with… with _him_?"

Eames chuckled a little, seeming to think it was funny, and quickly Arthur realized that he'd allowed his feathers to get ruffled without so much as a single provocation.

"You'll be here," Ariadne offered, pulling at Cobb's hand again with a grimace. "We shouldn't be gone long, right?"

Cobb paled a little. "I don't know… the ER on Christmas Eve?"

Awkward glances were exchanged.

"We'll… we'll be back before long," Cobb managed to say, though it sounded a lot like a lie. "Neither of us can drive like this though, and since you need to be able to get to the airport…"

"Then have Eames drive you," Arthur grumbled.

"Driving in the States is a lot different than back home, you know," Eames said, smirking. "Don't want me putting along on the wrong side of the road in this weather, do you?"

Arthur was sure Eames could handle it. He just didn't want to have to get all dressed up in his coats and scarves and hats and go outside. Eames lived in Mombasa strictly because it _wasn't_ cold, and he avoided the chill whenever he could. No matter the reason though, once Eames decided he wasn't going to do something, then he wasn't going to do it.

"It won't be long," Cobb assured Arthur. "You two can handle James and Phillipa while we're gone, right?"

Arthur wanted to protest. There was actually a part of him that wanted to yell and scream and throw a tantrum, but neither was going to do him any good. If he wanted to get to the airport, he didn't need to be sitting in the ER hoping they would be seen before he had to leave so that they wouldn't be left stranded. He sighed. "Fine."

"Nothing to worry about," Eames said, setting his drink down on the piano, and Arthur made a mental note to put a coaster under it as soon as possible. "Arthur, the kids, and I will have right jolly time." He clapped a hand down on Arthur's shoulder. "…You know, until you have to leave."

"Please be back by eight thirty at the latest," Arthur begged, that little tantrum throwing child still screaming in the back of his skull. Eames was close enough to hear it, he was sure, and he certainly liked that even less.

"We will," Cobb said, awkwardly tugging his hand again to no avail, talking as if he had control over when people got in and out of the emergency room.

A minute later, after a couple of "You kids be good for Mr. Eames and for Arthur," from Cobb, a struggle between the glued together companions to get coats on (mostly), the three had left, leaving the four of them alone.

Arthur sighed, rubbing his temple where he felt a headache already starting and wished it was starting because of the wine and not because of the fact that he was basically alone in a cabin with (worst of- now, stop that, how juvenile) Eames.

"So, what shall we do first?" Eames asked.

"Open presents?" Phillipa and James chimed hopefully.

"Now, now, what gifts will there be to open without Santa's visit?" Eames asked, clasping his hands together. "I think that we could negotiate some sugar cookies though."

Eames could had offered them hundred dollar bills and gotten the same excited reaction (considering kids didn't understand the value of a dollar). They jumped and ran into the little kitchen with Eames trailing along behind him with a laugh.

Arthur glared at him, disgusted… He was just so agitated by that Santa hat and the apple green shirt with Christmas lights decorating it. Regardless of how much Christmas spirit he did or didn't have, there was absolutely _no_ excuse for that shirt to exist. It was almost like it only existed to piss Arthur off. He feared that much longer and Eames would reveal that it would plug into the wall and light up.

"Arthur, darling, do you want some cookies?" Eames called from kitchen. "We've got these delightful little trees and stars and angels!"

"Yes, Arthur, darling! Come eat with us!" Phillipa called, imitating Eames to the best that she could.

"Arthur, darling!" James added.

Arthur smacked his palm to his forehead and ran it over his hair. The last person he wanted them imitating was Eames. Eames wasn't exactly what one would call a role model. A great thief and forger, sure; imaginative, yes; charming and devilishly handsome, well… yeah… not that Arthur would ever admit anything like that to him… at least not sober, but then again Arthur was never drunk. Either way, that was beside the point. The fact was that Eames was a bad role model for the children, the very reason he didn't want Eames to be watching them. Eames was more about having fun, and he feared that Cobb and Ariadne and Yusuf wouldn't be back before Arthur had to leave… and then any semblance of order would be completely and utterly destroyed.

Arthur stepped into the kitchen, finding they'd already made a mess of sparkly sprinkles, crumbs, and spilled milk that was no use crying over though Arthur was already feeling like he should because it was the beginning of things to come. "How did twelve seconds lead to this much of a mess?" Arthur asked, making an effort to gesture to the mess but finding that his hands could really go anywhere in the kitchen, especially that terrible shirt (as it was a mess all on its own). "You're kids, not barbarians."

"Mr. Eames isn't," James said, laughing with a mouthful of a cookie that used to look like Santa's face.

"Maybe not physically, no," Arthur said flatly, sweeping crumbs with his hand to the edge of the table and into the trash can he was holding with the other hand. "Actually, he might be a barbarian."

"You wound me right to my heart, darling," Eames said, pulling Arthur away from the mess and placing a cup in his long fingers. "Drink a little Christmas cheer and celebrate, love."

Arthur sniffed it. "How much bourbon is in this?" He could venture a guess.

"Enough," Eames chuckled. Arthur thought that he was entirely too close for comfort, but just before he could protest, Eames was returning Arthur's personal space to him as he approached the children. "So, what is it you kids would like to do?"

"Will you read us a Christmas story, Mr. Eames?" Phillipa asked.

Arthur huffed, not liking how Eames had already won the children over and so easily as well. It was an outrage.

Little-tantrum-Arthur started whining and stamping around in the back of his skull.

"We should clean this up first," Arthur tried, hoping they all didn't get to go have Christmas fun while he was playing wife and cleaning up the kitchen since he just couldn't leave it like that.

Surprisingly, Eames agreed. "I think that's a right brilliant idea, my dear Arthur."

The kids moaned disapprovingly.

"Now, now," Eames chided, and it really didn't suit him and sounded a bit mocking even though he was being serious. "My mum used to make me clean up after myself too… but I think we could make this fun." He winked at Arthur, and Arthur flared his nostrils, not to be pulled into that charm. Ever. Nope. Not him.

"What does that mean?" Arthur asked awkwardly.

"Let's sing… You know, like how Snow White does."

"Snow White whistles," James corrected.

"Well, we can't all whistle, so let's sing instead," Eames suggested. "We'll sing our favorite holiday tunes, all right? Arthur, what's your favorite?"

Arthur stared, not expecting to be put on the spot like that (because after all, it wouldn't have been putting him on the spot otherwise), and chose to sip at the bourbon with egg nog in it. He was slurping loudly again.

Phillipa then jumped into a rousing rendition of "Jingle Bells" and Arthur was for the moment forgotten about while they were cleaning. Tables were wiped down, crumbs were swept, things were put back in there proper place… and surprisingly the carols led the children into the living room where they continued to clean up ripped wrapping paper and bows, all the while singing with Eames any song they could think of.

Arthur cleaned, but he didn't sing… well, mostly he didn't… It was kind of infectious, and he couldn't help but hum a little when they were singing about chestnuts roasting and winter wonderlands. He'd stop whenever Eames would notice though because heaven forbid he was looking at him for too long.

It always seemed to come back to "Jingle Bells" though because that was James's favorite. He would squeal excitedly whenever they'd jump into it and stomp around in his own form of dancing, shouting rather than singing the words as toddlers often do. Eames wasn't much of a singer either, though he could carry a tune… but Arthur began to wonder if he was just having so much fun with them that he couldn't help but sing in the same fashion.

Well… he _was_ a child after all. Arthur had already said that.

"Arthur, take out the garbage," Eames said casually picking up James and flying him over to the couch to read him a Christmas story.

Arthur squinted at him resentfully, much like Cobb would. "You take out the garbage."

"Really?" Eames said, grinning. "You're going to fight me that way? I thought you were an adult."

Arthur had to fight back the urge to say some rather vile, inappropriate words in front of the children. His nostrils flared again, and Eames laughed because he was never affected… but it was Christmas, so he reminded himself of that and decided that arguing and fighting could wait until later… Later…

Arthur checked his watch. "It's almost eight already?" Arthur mumbled, throwing his coat on. Cobb, Ariadne, and Yusuf weren't back yet? He had to leave by eight thirty at the absolute latest… That meant, if they weren't back, leaving the children with Eames…

He decided he needed to get them to bed before that in order to ensure they would get to bed on time or rather _at all_. Eames would have them up singing carols until all hours of the morning. They'd be eating Christmas cookies until they were so hyped up on sugar they might not sleep for days.

Arthur opened the front door and was immediately blasted with freezing cold air. He had to shut his eyes for a second because the temperature from inside was so different. He shivered and stepped out, finding that his feet sank into about an inch and a half of snow.

He paused there for a long second. Snow hadn't been in his plans. Getting through snow and traffic would take longer… If he left by eight thirty, he still might not make it in time. He dropped the garbage bag by the curb and hurried back inside out of the cold.

Eames was right in the middle of his own version of "T'was the Night before Christmas," which apparently starred Arthur himself because Eames was referring to the main character as a bit of a stick in the mud who didn't believe in Santa. He would have been more aggravated if he'd had the time.

"For the record, I do believe in Santa," he told the children when they giggled at him when he came in, stamping snow off of his shoes. "Wrap up the story, Eames. Santa's actually supposed to be here soon."

"It's not that long of a story, love. What's the rush?"

"What's the rush?" the kids repeated, plastering on British accents.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Just read it to them properly, Eames."

"You're not going to assist me? Correct my grammar errors and the like?" Eames asked as Arthur slipped into the room he had been occupying the night before.

"As much as I'm sure you're riddled with spelling and grammar errors, Mr. Eames, I have to do some packing. It's snowing outside, and I need to get on the road sooner than I thought if I intend to make my flight home."

"It's snowing?" the children exclaimed, and Arthur realized what a mistake he had made. Phillipa and James had always lived near Los Angeles and therefore seldom saw snow outside of television specials. They were leaping and crawling over furniture before either Arthur or Eames could blink, headed straight for the door.

"Now, now, hold on just a minute!" Arthur shouted, chasing after them, managing to catch James before he reached the door and found that Eames had dived and caught Phillipa as well. "It's freezing out there, and you're in your pajamas."

"It'll still be there in the morning," Eames assured them, pulling Phillipa back into his arms to keep her from struggling. "It's too late to go out and play right now."

The kids 'awwwed' disagreeably but didn't make more runs for the door. "We can't even touch it?" Phillipa asked, her lower lip pouting.

"Well…" Eames looked to Arthur for approval, which was surprising to say the least. "We could let them go out on the porch for a moment, right?"

Arthur huffed, lips thinning, but Eames was just _looking_ at him again, a lot like he had been whenever he caught him humming or even earlier when he'd been leaning on the piano while Yusuf failed through renditions of "Silent Night".

"…Well… fine," Arthur said, "but just for a second. If you guys got sick, your father would never forgive me."

"Yes, he would," James said.

The foursome stepped out onto the porch in the cold, and Eames didn't seem too happy about it since he hated the cold. Arthur wasn't too fond of it either, he admitted, but he'd never allow Eames to realize that they had anything in common.

"Wow," Phillipa whispered. "It's so pretty, isn't it?"

"You are right about that," Eames said, and his voice was quiet and somewhat dreamy and definitely not something Arthur recognized. He was turning to look at him before he could help himself. "Don't you think so?"

Arthur opened his mouth and closed it and looked back out into the snowy night, and he had to admit that yes, it was very pretty. It was beautiful even, like something straight out of the snow globe his aunt had given him for Christmas when he was twelve and had proceeded to have been broken by his sister when he was thirteen.

"Why, Arthur, darling, I do believe you are smiling."

Arthur looked back at Eames who was smiling at him like he knew something and god damn it, was that heat creeping up the back of his neck?

He couldn't help but feel flustered and embarrassed when he was looking at him like he knew, like he _knew_ what had transpired between him and his family in Christmases past. It had been two years now, Arthur figured, since he'd gotten drunk and accidentally come out to his entire family. From that point on, they were always suspecting he was banging dudes in back alleys practically twenty-four hours a day. Despite that he'd been going through a proverbial dry spell that had lasted since he'd gotten out of college (he'd been so busy, was his excuse, but of course that wasn't all of it), there was nothing he could say to make them believe otherwise. He'd actually only been with one man, his long-term boyfriend in college that broke up with him because Arthur was too afraid to make it public… and now Eames was looking at him like he knew that, like he knew about the raised eyebrows and whispers passed between Arthur's mother and father and siblings and aunts and uncles and cousins and grandparents and neighbors and whoever else happened to be hanging around that particular grapevine, and it just made Arthur all different kinds of uncomfortable.

And it reminded him that he didn't really _want_ to make that trip home.

"Okay, let's get inside," Arthur said with another collective 'awww' from the two children. James dropped the snowball he'd been forming back onto the porch and gave it a quick stomp before they all retreated to the warmth of the fireplace and the rest of Eames's story.

Arthur packed and as soon as he was done, Eames seemed to finish his story as well, and Arthur sent them off to bed. He called Cobb as soon as they were tucked in.

"Where are you guys?" Arthur asked, checking his watch. It was already eight forty-five.

"Well, uh…" Cobb said, and he could hear Ariadne yelling at someone to pipe down in the background. "This place is busier than I expected."

"Well, demand to be seen then," Arthur said. "Put your foot down. Give them your trademark squint."

"My what?"

"Oh… uh, sorry, I've been drinking… a little…" he'd finished off that bourbon with egg nog and drained a second glass at least.

"Well, Arthur, I don't know… It's just that there are people here with burns and people who've been electrically shocked, people who've been beat up by their relatives."

"Well, it is Christmas," Arthur admitted. "Fa la la la la." Slightly-drunk Arthur thought that was funny and he found himself snorting into another glass of bourbon with egg nog in it.

"Are the kids in bed?"

"Yeah, fast asleep. Just… well, call me when you're seen and…" he trailed off when he heard Yusuf in the background saying something about everyone being snowed in. "I'll talk to you later if I'm not on the plane."

The plane… his flight was supposed to leave at nine. If he got to the airport, he might be able to reschedule for a later flight, he decided, since there was no way he'd make it on time… However, he would need to get there soon because there would most definitely be a line.

Arthur finished off the rest of his glass and zipped up the open suitcase on his bed. After a quick goodbye, followed by Ariadne mentioning that she sure could use some alcohol at that moment, Arthur hung up. He dragged the suitcase out into the living room and found Eames sitting at the piano. He started playing as soon as Arthur stepped through the door.

"Didn't know you could play," Arthur mentioned, trying not to sound impressed.

"One more song, darling, before you leave." It wasn't a question but more of a request.

"I really can't stay," Arthur said, not realizing that he was in time with the music until Eames followed up, singing joyfully.

"But darling, it's cold outside."

Oh, what the hell, said Slightly-Drunk Arthur, but he just quietly half-mumbled, half-sang, "I've got to go away…"

"Darling, it's cold outside."

"This evening has been…"

"Been hoping that you'd drop in…"

"So very nice…"

He had to admit that the evening had been infinitely better than he'd accused it of being before it took place. He had to admit that Eames hadn't been miserable company, and he actually had a good handle on how to take care of the children…

"I'll take your hands, they're just like ice."

But still, it wasn't like he could just give into him like that. This very possibly could have been manipulation on Eames's end. Eames did know how to do that… but he wouldn't do that to Arthur, would he?

"My mother will start to worry-"

"Beautiful, what's your hurry?"

Of course he would! Why wouldn't he? Eames would manipulate anyone and everyone to get his way.

"And father will be pacing the floor…"

"Listen to the fireplace roar…"

It wasn't like Arthur to get swept up into that manipulation, dry spell or no… especially when it was _Eames_ of all people. Eames! Eames with his hideous shirts and cocky little smirk and devilish good looks and British charm and…

"So really I'd better scurry-"

"Beautiful, please don't hurry."

Damn it. He was attracted to Eames. He'd been denying it for a while, but damn it. Damn it…

Arthur grabbed for the bourbon. "Well, maybe just a half a drink more-"

Eames took it from him, staring at him with that look again, and Arthur had been caught off guard that the piano music had stopped. "Put some records on while I pour."

Arthur stared blankly, forgetting about the song, thinking that Eames had literally made it a demand and then stumbled over to the record player to find no records around. Eames laughed from behind him.

"The neighbors might think…" Arthur finally managed to start again, as soon as Eames was close enough behind him that his breath was on his neck.

"Darling, it's bad out there," Eames sang back, handing Arthur a glass of bourbon.

"Say, what's in this drink?" It had to be the drink after all, making Eames look so alluring, even in that ugly, ugly shirt.

"No cabs to be had out there."

Shit, maybe it wasn't.

"I wish I knew how…"

"Your eyes are like starlight now."

When did they start standing so close to one another? "…to break the spell…"

"I'll take your hat, your hair looks swell." Cheshire-cat grin. It was far too good-looking on those lips of his.

Arthur turned away, feeling that familiar heat on his neck and ears again, "I ought to say no, no, no, sir…"

"Mind if I move in closer?" He skated right back into Arthur's personal space, breathing on the shell of his ear, and Arthur couldn't help but think, _not at all_ as the answer to his question.

"At least I'm gonna say that I tried."

"What's the sense in hurting my pride?"

No, no, Arthur needed to get away from this and get home and not get all wrapped up like a present. "I really can't stay…"

"Darling, don't hold out…"

Oh, screw it. "But, baby, it's cold out…" Arthur didn't manage to finish because Eames had shoved him up against the wall and kissed him.

When he pulled away, they were both breathless. "How…" Arthur finally managed to say. "How did you know?"

"Know what, darling?"

Arthur stammered for a moment and shoved away from him, not singing, but still stuck in the lyrics, "I simply must go."

Eames took him by the arms and pressed himself against his back, seeming to enjoy this little musical game, "but, darling it's cold outside."

"The answer is no."

"Darling, it's cold outside."

Damn, that breath on his neck… He could smell the alcohol, and it was more intoxicating than the drink itself. "Your welcome has been…"

"How lucky that you dropped in…"

Wait, that wasn't his breath on his neck anymore… "So nice and warm…"

"Look out the window at that storm."

Eames was kissing down his neck, and Arthur kept seeing the looks on his family's face if he was the one who showed up so late and… "My sister will be suspicious."

Eames pressed a kiss at his jawline. "God, your lips look delicious-"

"My brother will be there at the door-"

He was unbuttoning Arthur's shirt. "Listen to the fireplace roar."

Arthur's voice cracked. "My maiden aunt's mind is vicious-"

Eames kissed him again, quickly, but his face lingered inches from him, noses touching, and hey, when did he get in front of him like that? "Ooh, your lips are delicious."

Arthur swallowed, knowing that the heat in his face was undeniable now and only hoped that the way it was plunging down his front wasn't noticeable yet. "Well, maybe just a cigarette more."

"Never such a blizzard before…"

Arthur ventured a sideways glance at the window and discovered that the snow had become quite a blizzard and vaguely in the back of his mind he remembered Yusuf talking about being snowed in. Maybe he couldn't get to the airport at all… and even if he could, there was no guarantee that he'd get out of it that night…

Wait, no, don't get sucked in! "I've got to get home."

"But, darling, you'd freeze out there."

Don't. Stop. "Say, lend me a coat." Or don't.

"It's up to your knees out there."

No it isn't, or maybe it is. He cared less than he should. "You've really been grand…"

"I thrill when you touch my hand…" Eames was kissing his hand now, and that heat that had plunged was beginning to fill him up all over and definitely get hotter, and he was reminded of that dry spell.

Wait, no, don't… "But don't you see?"

"How can you do this thing to me?"

When did he get all the buttons undone from Arthur's shirt? Eames's hands on his ribcage set his skin on fire, and damn if that heat wasn't unbearably firing up down below now. "Th-there's bound to be talk tomorrow…" He was losing his breath again.

"Think of my lifelong sorrow…"

"At least there will be plenty implied—"

Let's see… spending the night standing inline in an airport and inevitably spending the next day awkwardly sharing Christmas dinner with the company of stares and inappropriate questions….

"If you got pneumonia and died."

…or getting gloriously fucked by a devilishly handsome, charming Englishman?

"I really can't stay…."

That was a stupid question.

"But baby, it's cold outside…"

Well, damn it.

* * *

It was early morning when Cobb, Ariadne, and Yusuf returned… agitated, rumpled, but thankfully unattached. "Not how I wanted to spend my Christmas Eve," Cobb complained, rubbing the skin on his palm that was still a bit red.

"Attached to a beautiful young lady? It could have been much worse," Yusuf reminded. "You could have been shoveling the car out of the parking lot and driving two very ungrateful friends to the minor medical center when the emergency room wouldn't see them. "

Ariadne and Cobb both blushed sheepishly and apologized.

"I hope that everyone else had a marginally better time," Ariadne admitted, rolling her shoulders. "Though I guess Arthur's trapped at the airport. They said on the news that there were no planes going in or out."

"Maybe we should call him," Cobb admitted, pulling out his cell phone.

"He didn't answer when you called him before."

"He probably fell asleep."

"So you're going to call him now? It's four in the morning," Yusuf reminded.

"This is Arthur we're talking about," Cobb chuckled, knowing that Arthur would not be asleep at the airport at four in the morning.

He didn't know however that when he called Arthur, his cell phone would light up on the coffee table next to a couple of half-drunk glasses of bourbon and an ashtray with a few cigarette butts invading it.

"Looks like Arthur forgot his phone," Ariadne marveled, picking it up gingerly as if afraid she would break it.

Yusuf snorted, looking behind the couch, "and his suitcase, apparently."

"He's still here," Ariadne said. "Here, I thought that nothing could keep Arthur from going against his plans, not even the weather. He's so anal retentive about that kind of stuff."

"Let's just go to bed," Cobb mumbled, too tired to think too heavily about it at that moment. "We'll ask him about it in the morning."

Yusuf waited until the other two had retreated upstairs before going to the door that Arthur's room lay behind and slowly opening the door. Eames stirred under the sheets when the light met his eyes. He blinked lazily and waved almost childishly.

"I suppose I owe you that hundred dollars," Yusuf said quietly, careful not to wake Arthur who was sprawled out rather comically on Eames's other side.

Eames shook his head. "Don't worry about it. I got what I wanted for Christmas."

"Congratulations," Yusuf smirked and shut the door.

Eames hummed until he fell asleep again.

Everyone stared the next morning when Arthur sat down for breakfast, wearing Eames's awful shirt. They stared and whispered amongst each other randomly but never outright said it.

Ah, just like home, Arthur thought with a smile.

_**Merry Christmas**_


End file.
